There was proof everywhere, any which way he chose to look, that things had taken on a crazier facade. As crazy as being abducted and thrown onto another world, across a great gap in outer space—perhaps. No longer was there [Cobblerite], nor the leftovers from an ancient race of people. In their place, and in all others the same, laid a shadowy version of their past designations. The reign of darkness touched all and despite any unwillingness on the part of its monstrous tenants.

Quintin took the idle breakdown in conversation to attend to a final [System] notification.

[Equipment]:

...

...

Misc./Special:

[Opaline Core of Purity]

—Special Dungeon Core: Sozzelrift

—Soul Type: Ancient Silver Dragon

—State: Automated Control

—Grade: Ancient Legendary{Inert}

Holds the soul of the Ancient Silver Dragon Aubirmourn.

Known to you as Bilal Abassi, or Master.

Active Permissions: {None}

Dungeon Control: {Automatic}

Trait: [Stainless Self]

○Gives Status: {Stainless Self}

○Persistant State

—○Impervious to harmful substances, decay, and effects that would

strip, corrode or otherwise alter the outer self.

A wan smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It was apparent to him that he had messed up, big time. Given that, it was ironic to know being stainless brought no refreshing comfort to his guilt-colored mind. The effect it had was as if his Master didn't blame him. Only that made his regret all the stronger, with an ever-deepening belief that he had somehow let his Master down.

Quintin's words were an unconscious whisper, "So that's what Master meant..."

Bilal Abassi was a Dragon. Not only that, he was Quintin's closest family and confidant. It was hard to feel excited by the revelations given how scummy he currently felt. It was awe-inspiring to know he hadn't been imagining things; his Master was an unsurpassed man of wisdom, knowledge, and strength. But Aubirmourn, the Dragon, had given all of that away just to be beside him time and time again.

"Is this what Master became- because of me?" Deep pangs of shame caused Quintin to kneel down.

He clutched at his chest through the magical fabric of his robe in heartbreak. His head was an inch above the dyed [Cobblerite] block tiles. A sharp yell accompanied his head as it repeatedly made contact with the stonework.

"Stupid."

Bang.

"Unfilial."

Bang.

"Stupid."

Bang.

What finally stopped him was the thought of who his Master had made the sacrifice for, and why. [Stainless Self] made sure none of the blood and tears remained to mark his face. If he could, he would have turned it off so they could mix and represent his remorse. His mind was forcefully empty and mostly concussed, but he didn't care.

"Ma-Master wouldn' want to see me like this," he said through spotty vision, with words that were slightly slurred.

It had taken awhile to get here, but he had known where true fault laid. It was always there, steadily simmering in the background of every other overwhelming attraction. All it took was for his guard to be let down, just a little, and that all-consuming vortex that was his ignorant meddling came down in an unstoppable outflow.

"What have I done!?"

"If only I had chosen to do something else- anything else."

"I-Is my life really so important?"

"C-Could I not have chosen to die, rather than mess with that syringe?"

His inner speaker was quick to lay blame, even as the quietude of the environment brought an eerie reminder that he wasn't safe. Focus returned with a sharp surveyance of the area. What he beheld in the surrounding silence, was twenty tendril heads all staring directly at him from just beyond illumination. They appeared to be agitated in some regard, bearing an unhidden concern; as if the protective light was the only obstacle, and reason for their collective restraint.

More than a little creeped out, he intimated. "What's this? I know I'm some-" Quintin drew in a deep breath, "Corebearer. But you- all of you- need to relax."

At Quintin's insistence, the overly anxious mass of reanimated heads floated a small distance away. However, that did nothing to forestall the Headbearer from vocalizing discontent.

"Head bang-bang. No bang-bang!" the former [Goblin], Hedon, smacked its one good palm against the ground with an aggressive emphasis, "Core all! You-bearer only, no hurt Core!"

Plainly, Quintin had touched upon a sacred Taboo when he hit his head, and by proximity, the dungeon core against the floor. It came as no surprise then, that the articulate Hedon had a big issue with the perceived attempt to destroy it. The one-armed goblin wasn't the only one either. A disturbing amount of ink-stained creations took form. Horrific creatures with a variety of different shapes and sizes all began to make their way into the Amphitheater. They seemed to manifest out of shadowy pools of blackest night. From within the cavernous walls, and deep underground they dredged themselves out in certain unimaginable ways.

The squirming masses of the corrupted became densely packed around his spherical globe of vibrant white light. They made no move to enter, though Quintin got the distinct impression they were protecting him, or rather the Core he carried, from harm. The distinction wasn't without gravity, as he finally understood at least one important truth about dungeons; don't mess with the Core.

Breathing room consisted of a few feet in every direction; in other words, claustrophobic. Taken at face value, one might say that's plenty of room, and indeed it may well be—if shear numbers and perilous size went uncounted. Any weakness or snag of limbs would send these piled up bodies toppling over; purifying light be damned.

The face of Hedon stuck out in front of Quintin as he screamed out through the jungle-like tangle. "I would never intentionally harm your- our Core! It's far too precious to me—even moreso!"

Judgment came with a collective stiffening from the sludge of doughy, writhe-form of creatures. Like a pronouncement of 'not guilty' sung from the rafters, the boneless mounds languidly receded. He was stainless now, but that didn't stop the sweat from collecting at his feet.

In his heart, and in his mind, Quintin knew he needed to get out of this gloam-stricken place. To right one of many wrongs, he would try until his body gave out and he had no energy left to stand again. In the meantime, how he would get past these watchful guardians was the most pressing obstacle.